


A Coffee at Marlborough Café

by oceans_and_lovers



Category: North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Henry Lennox is a dick, John Thornton owns a cutesy café but is still grumpy and a total mess over Margaret, Margaret and Bessy are besties within seconds of meeting each other, Margaret is a babe and loves a good cappuccino with a caramel shot, Romance, This is like an extended meet-cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 03:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15855597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceans_and_lovers/pseuds/oceans_and_lovers
Summary: “One grande cappuccino with a caramel shot for Margaret.”Standing up, Margaret smiled at the barista as she reached out for the blessed drink she had been craving for the past ten minutes."-Margaret decides to go to Marlborough Café to write her articles, and there she not only gets a great caramel cappuccino and a new friend, but she also meets a certain Mr Thornton, the owner of the Café...





	A Coffee at Marlborough Café

**Author's Note:**

> I am reading North and South and just finished watching it, so felt compelled to write something. Writing historically-accurate fanfiction stresses me out, so I decided to write a modern coffee shop au because why not.
> 
> This is accidentally super similar to another fic I've written, but it doesn't really count as plagiarism when you plagiarise yourself, thank goodness. And it was written super quickly. And hardly edited. Mr Thornton isn't the only mess here...

“One grande cappuccino with a caramel shot for Margaret.”

Standing up, Margaret smiled at the barista as she reached out for the blessed drink she'd been craving for the past ten minutes.

“Have a good day, miss,” the woman behind the counter said, and Margaret, though desperate to snatch her coffee and take a gulp, smiled again and read their name tag before replying - “Thank you, Bessy.”

Cappuccino in hand, Margaret slipped past the tables standing between her and the corner she’d claimed for herself many hours before.

 

It was late-December so the snow buffering the windows wasn’t overly surprising, but Margaret still regretted not wearing her thicker coat and scarf, having not checked the weather forecast before shouldering out of her flat, burdened with her books and computer. 

Sipping her coffee and licking the foam off her lips, Margaret got to work as the deadline for her article was getting too close for her liking - she’d been delayed researching and writing it by having to visit her mother in London. 

She'd discovered before that she couldn’t stand working in her freezing flat all day, so she'd moved into Marlborough café as soon as it has opened that morning, hoping it was as good as the internet said.

 

Setting down her drink, Margaret resumed typing, content to let the sounds of the other patrons wash over her as she worked.

 

She’d just decided to make Marlborough café her second home given how good the wifi and coffee was and how thickly it was snowing outside, when yelling came from the door behind the counter.

The woman by the till - Bessy, she remembered, - only raised an eyebrow at the commotion as she cleaned up, but the few other customers left stared as much as Margaret did as the noise only got louder.

Then the door burst open and a man fell through it, sprawling out on the floor and a tall man stood over him, glaring down as he half-shouted, “Get out of here, Stephens!”

Stephens clutched his face and scrambled away, running out into the snow. The café was then left in a tense silence, broken only by the man who’d been shouting saying, “I apologise for the disruption, it was well justified.”

As he turned on his heel and disappeared back through the door, Margaret closed her mouth, which had been hanging open. Bessy caught her eye and smirked, before coming over to sit in one of the chairs nearby.

 

“You alright?” She said, eyeing Margaret. “You look like you might faint.”

“I’m quite alright, thank you Bessy,” Margaret said, straightening her spine and smiling to dispel the last traces of shock she felt at such a display in so quaint an establishment.

Bessy hummed under her breath and wiped down the table she was sitting near, and Margaret, glancing at what must be the kitchen door, said, “I’m sorry, I have to ask - who was that?”

“Stephens was the one who was booted out, and Mr Thornton was the one who was making the racket.”

“Mr Thornton?” 

Bessy chuckled, and said, “I thought you must be new. Mr Thornton owns Marlborough café. E’s the manager.”

“But it’s so cosy in here, so lovely. And he seems so…”

“Grumpy?”

 

It was Margaret who then chuckled and said, “Well, I was going to say severe, but yes. He looks like he should be running some factory instead. Does he often yell at employees like that?”

Bessy shrugged as she replied, “Only if you’re caught smoking in the kitchen. Fire hazard an’ all.”

“It still seems awfully harsh to treat the man so violently.”

“Local legend says Thornton’s dad died in a fire. Why he’s so tetchy ‘bout it.”

“Oh,” Margaret said, and her frown softened as Mr Thornton’s actions took on a different light.

“You’re Margaret, right?”

“Yes,” Margaret nodded and Bessy stuck out her hand which Margaret happily shook.

 

They spoke for awhile as another barista manned the counter, and Margaret began feeling that she didn’t want to leave - Bessy was so easy to chat with - when a voice cut through the café - “Bessy. Your break is over.”

 

Both their heads snapped up to find Mr Thornton looking at them, his gaze heavy and focused.

“It’s closing time, miss,” he said, eyes shifting to look just at Margaret, and she lifted her chin in response to his scrutiny, before beginning to pack her belongings away.

“When are you next working, Bessy?” She managed to ask before Bessy walked away, and Bessy replied, “All week. Right up to Christmas I’ll be here.”

“Good, I will see you in the morning,” Margaret said, then she lifted up her bags and maneuvered herself to the café door.

 

“Let me,” came a gruff voice behind her, and an arm reached to grasp the door handle before she had time to protest.

Mr Thornton pulled open the door, leaning over her, tall as he was, and Margaret nodded once at him, before walking into the snow-white night.

 

-

 

With her scarf wrapped tightly around her, snuggly covering her face, Margaret traipsed through the fresh snow to Marlborough café, carrying fewer books than the day before and wearing her winter coat.

There was only one other customer in when Margaret pushed through the door, and no queue, so Margaret placed her bag on her corner table before going to order her drink. When she reached the counter, there Bessy stood, today wearing reindeer ears, and smiling widely at her.

“I didn’t know if you’d be too scared to come back,” Bessy whispered, and Margaret opened her mouth to question her meaning when Bessy continued in a hushed voice, “After Thornton talking to you an’ all. But quiet, that’s battle-axe Thornton over there.”

She bobbed her head towards the window where the other customer sat, an older woman, rigid in her seat, and Margaret whispered, “Battle-axe?”

“Wonder where Mr Thornton gets his scowl?”

Again Bessy nodded to the woman, and Margaret’s eyebrows raised as she said quietly, “His mother?”

“I thought you were meant to be smart, what with all ‘em books.”

“I haven’t had my morning coffee yet, Bessy,” Margaret said, lightly laughing, “A cappuccino with a - ”

“Caramel shot?” 

“Yes please.”

 

Bessy insisted on bringing her drink to the table, setting it down gently amongst the paper littering its surface, and Margaret smiled up at her before rolling up her sleeves and starting to work.

As the morning progressed, more customers filled up the café till it was heaving by midday, forcing Margaret to put in her headphones to block out the din. 

Thankfully, Bessy kept appearing by her shoulder with a glass of water or a coffee, saying it would go on her tab, and mid-way through the afternoon, she came and spent her break by Margaret’s side, idly chatting as Margaret leant back, her mug held in both hands.

Mrs - battle-axe - Thornton remained in her seat for much of the day, like Margaret, but whenever Margaret glanced at her, she seemed to be doing nothing more than just surveying the café and looking angrily at certain patrons. Especially the young children, who were continually crying and spilling their drinks.

 

“Margaret?”

Margaret looked up, rubbing her eyes, to find Bessy beside her once again, a cardboard box in her hands.

“Are those,” - Margaret stood, and lifted one of the flaps - “Christmas decorations?”

“Wondered if you wanted to help me put ‘em up. You look like you need a break, and Mary’s gone home sick so can't help.”

“Of course I’ll help,” Margaret replied, feeling herself brighten as she shut down her laptop, and took the box from Bessy, who looked like she could do with a rest herself, to Margaret’s eye.

 

“Meant to put them up earlier, but it was too busy,” Bessy said over her shoulder, leading Margaret to one of the many empty tables near a corner of the café.

Together, they untangled a string of fairy lights and hung them up on the hooks already mounted on the wall, then they did the same with some tinsel.

 

As Margaret was arranging a tree-shaped decoration on the counter, the outside door was flung open and a woman strutted in, a baby whining on her hip.

“Mother!” She called, and Mrs Thornton strode over, the scowl on her face becoming slightly less fierce as she pulled the baby closer, and Margaret, distracted by watching them, knocked the decoration to the floor.

“You took your time,” Mrs Thornton said, and her daughter squawked a reply Margaret didn’t hear, as she was leaning down to retrieve the decoration and the kitchen door was opened forcefully beside her, narrowly missing her head.

“What - ” Margaret said as she stood up, but she was interrupted by Mr Thornton saying, “Did I hurt you?”

He was gripping her arms and staring at her intensely, and Margaret shrugged him off, saying, “No, but you should be more careful, Mr Thornton.”

He cast his eyes to the floor, and murmured, “I am sorry.” 

 

His intensity then gentle apology startled Margaret and she could only watch dumbly as he walked over to Mrs Thornton and her daughter, her brain frozen.

Margaret touched her head lightly and placed the tree decoration firmly on the countertop.

 

“I’m fine, Bessy, the door didn’t even touch me,” she said, holding up her hands to Bessy who had rushed over.

“No, but Thornton did and he was practically blushing - what did you say to him?!”

“No - nothing,” Margaret said, “I said he should be more careful.”

Bessy looked between her and Mr Thornton and hummed - “Interesting.”

 

Margaret didn’t reply though, as her gaze had somehow landed again on the Thorntons, who were on the opposite side of the room. Mrs Thornton was being dragged to a seat by her daughter and Mr Thornton was holding the baby.

Margaret, thinking back on it, must have lost some brain cells after almost being hit by the door, as she found herself staring at Mr Thornton bouncing the baby on his hip. And was he cooing to the baby too?

“Margaret?”

“Wh - yes, Bessy?”

 

But Bessy smirked rather than replying, and she went to rummage in the cardboard box, forcing Margaret to follow.

“What is it, Bessy?”

Bessy shook her head.

“If you do not tell me, we will no longer be friends.”

Margaret’s lips quirked up as she tried to look firm, and Bessy gasped dramatically and said, “Now we can’t be ‘aving that. I was just thinking of you gawking at Mr Thornton like that and how funny it was.”

“I was not gawking!”

“Sure, of course not. I wouldn’t advise getting any ideas though.” Bessy started to whisper, “Loads of girls have gone after him and he wants none of it.”

“Bessy I am not going after him, as you say. He’s - too severe for me. And... I do not know him.”

“Well if you decided you want to get to know ‘im better, I can help. Seems like he’d like to get to know you though...”

“Bessy!”

The other woman grinned widely, and Margaret shook her head over her new found friend and her antics.

 

Decorations up, Margaret returned to her corner and wrote an email to her mother, detailing her travel plans to see her in London for the New Year, and all that she has been doing. Which hasn’t been much.

Mrs Thornton’s daughter didn’t stay long, and neither did Mrs Thornton herself, but Mr Thornton once again stayed until closing time, when he said, “Miss, we’re closing now.”

“One moment, then I’ll be out of your hair,” she said, and though she packed quickly and sped to the door, Mr Thornton still beat her to it to hold it open for her.

Had he always been so tall? And handsome, a part of brain whispered, but she shushed it as she ducked her head and said, “Thank you.”

She really must have lost some brain cells...

 

“Have a good evening,” he said softly as she walked away down the street, and Margaret couldn’t help but look back at him. 

 

-

 

Margaret was pleased to find all her belongings where she’d left them under Bessy’s supervision, as she walked back into the café the next day, having had to run home to fetch her laptop charger. The article was almost done, but she had been given another brief to research, so working without a laptop was not an option. 

She’d just arranged her stationary and notes to begin, when someone said loudly, “Back again?”

“Um, pardon?”

Margaret sat up in her seat and frowned at the man looming over her table, smiling with too many teeth.

“Henry Lennox,” he bowed - bowed! - then said, “I saw you leave earlier but now you have returned to grace us with your beautiful presence.”

Her eyebrows felt like they must be in her hairline, but her surprise and subsequent disdain didn’t deter the man who sat down on a seat rather too close to her.

Margaret shuffled slightly to the right and tried to catch Bessy’s eye, but her friend was nowhere in sight. Just her luck.

 

The man - Henry Lennox, he’d said, - stretched, his arm hitting Margaret lightly, but he didn’t notice, saying, “What is your name? It must be at least as pretty as you are.”

“Margaret.”

“And I was right! What are you doing here then, Miss Margaret?”

He smiled again and leaned closer to listen to her reply, which she thankfully didn’t have to give, as a sharp voice caused Henry Lennox to jolt away from her, - “Excuse me.”

“Yes?”

“Not you,” Mr Thornton said, his face like stone as he scowled at the man next to her. “Could you come with me, miss. Bessy needs your help.”

“Yes, of course,” Margaret said, smoothing down her top, and putting her laptop into a bag alongside her books.

“If you leave them under the counter, I’ll make sure Arthur will keep them safe.”

“Thank you, Mr Thornton,” she said, briskly standing and ignoring Henry as she followed Mr Thornton to the staff area of the café, depositing her bag as she went.

 

Through the doors, they entered the kitchen but Mr Thornton kept striding forwards, taking her to what must be the staff room. 

He held the door open for her, and said as she took the seat he offered, “Bessy is just unloading a delivery. I…” He blinked and coughed slightly before continuing - “It seemed, if I am mistaken do say, that you were in need of… assistance.”

His eyes flickered up to her face then back to the flowered carpet beneath his feet. As if he were nervous. For some reason, the idea warmed Margaret.

“If indeed he was not welcome, I can escort him from the café, - ”

“That is not necessary,” Margaret said, but hurried to explain, “I mean, I was startled so could not rebuff him properly. I will do so next time.” 

 

He slowly nodded, and Margaret felt the need to smooth away the crease between his brows so said, “But, if I may, I would like to stay here for a little while. To wait for Bessy.” So she could ask her a great many questions regarding Mr Thornton, café owner and damsel rescuer…

“Stay as long as you want.”

There was silence for a moment, and they simply looked at one another, then Margaret said, “Thank you, Mr Thornton.”

“John. You can - call me John.”

“Margaret Hale.”

 

She reached up, hand outstretched, and John’s lips pulled up into a surprisingly bright smile as he took it between both of his calloused hands and shook it twice. 

 

He didn’t let go immediately though, and Margaret found, as she traced the shape of his lips with her eyes and smiled up at him, that she didn’t mind.


End file.
